Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings Read Free

trails were being heavily traveled by the military, sometimes hundreds of men in U.S. cavalry blue. Perhaps the Mescaleros were keeping their distance because of the increasing number of reinforcements. At any time now, the military bugle could be heard, calling fighting men into action.
    He was being a fool. He should turn around and head back. One look at this woman was enough to know that she was pulling him along by nether parts of his body, and, in truth, he wanted no part of it.
    Yet he kept riding.… At least, Blade justified, she was going in the same direction he wanted to go.
    By nightfall, they would be coming up on Jackson Prairie, one of the small towns that had sprung up in the past ten years. It was thriving nicely enough. It had come under Indian attack once in that time, but a cavalry fort was only a twenty minute ride away, which had given the residents courage to hold their own. They had repelled the Indians before the bugler and the cavalry had arrived, tenaciously shooting their rifles from their bedroom windows. Jackson Prairie, it seemed, was new and wild and reckless, but here to stay. There were good wells, which tapped into a fine water supply, and against the dry dust bowl of much of the land around it, it was a welcome haven. Even before the war, the land around Jackson Prairie had begun going for fair prices. It was good, wide open space, perfect for cattle grazing.
    Once the stagecoach reached Jackson Prairie, there wouldn’t be any need for him to follow. Jackson Prairie wouldn’t be a bad place to spend the night, Blade thought. A little whiskey, a good bath at the boardinghouse and a game of cards. And women to be had for the asking.
    Strange, but the thought suddenly didn’t seem to do too much for Blade, unless the woman was a tall, slim, elegantly dressed Easterner.…
    Mrs. Dylan had already offered herself, more or less, he recalled. But somehow, with her, that just made him angry. It wasn’t her vocation, and she hadn’t suddenly been smitten with him.… So what would make her so determined to make it in the West that she would so quickly make such an offer to him?
    The answer eluded Blade. And even as he sought it, he realized that he had ceased to pay attention to the stage, now just a speck on the horizon.
    There were buttes surrounding the valley. And looking up, to his right and left, Blade could see horsemen on those buttes.
    Apaches. Mescaleros. Five riders to the south, another three to the north. His only hope was that their weapons might be old and outdated, that what rifles they had weren’t repeating ones. He spurred his horse, leaning now, pulling out his Colt. If he could reach the stage before the Indians could …
    But he couldn’t. The driver saw the threat coming and set his whip to his team. The stage began to race wildly, careening down the rutted trail through the wilderness. The guard was up on one knee from his position on the box, firing at the Indians, who were converging on the stage.
    The Indians were nearly naked. Some were in leather leggings and vests, their bronze arms gleaming, ink black hair waving, bare flesh covered with paint. Some wore only breech-clouts, and more of their muscled, gleaming flesh was apparent.
    As Blade raced in behind the war party, one Apache fell from his horse, caught by a shot from the stage guard’s rifle. Blade fired with his Colt, bringing down a lagging rider. Then, as he spurred his bay gelding to greater speed, he saw another rifle appear, from the window of the stage.
    She was firing. The very elegant and beautiful Mrs. Dylan was firing from the stage window. She hit one of the Apaches in the shoulder and the man shrieked out in pain and fury, flying from his mount onto the dirt of the trail. Within seconds, Blade’s fine bay was leaping over the fallen man.
    He could hear the stage driver shouting to the horses. “Get up, get up!” The whip cracked in the air. The